


on sleepless roads

by idolrapper (wonwoo)



Category: GOT7
Genre: Alternate Universe - Road Trip, Hitchhiking, M/M, Minor Violence, Multi, Threesome - M/M/M, Too Many Shitty Rain Metaphors, Weddings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-27
Updated: 2016-05-27
Packaged: 2018-05-23 12:35:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,443
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6116650
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wonwoo/pseuds/idolrapper
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“You had me brake like that,” Jaebum laughs emptily, “so we could pick up a fucking hitchhiker?”</p><p>(in which Jaebum and Youngjae are dating and Jinyoung needs a ride to Mokpo.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	on sleepless roads

**Author's Note:**

  * For [riveting](https://archiveofourown.org/users/riveting/gifts).



> written for magne7ic 2016!
> 
> thanks to the mod(s) for being so considerate, to f for the read-through and r for the beta, and to my recipient for your great taste! :* this probably isn't what u wanted, but i hope you enjoy it anyway ♡

One of the earliest memories Youngjae has is of slouching in the passenger seat of his father’s car, a privilege Youngjae would guilt trip his father into allowing him; forehead plastered to the foggy side-window, watching raindrops rivet down the glass. From that angle, he could see the endless, ashy sky and the flickers of lightning piercing through the clouds. If he emptied his mind and focused on the view alone, he felt as though he had plummeted into the eye of the storm itself. The leather beneath him disappeared, the frame of the car and the bumpy road underneath vanishing with it, and Youngjae was flying. 

Then, his father would call out his name, or turn up the Ottmar Liebert album Youngjae had probably been hearing since he was in the womb, and the illusion would be lost.

“Youngjae,” Jaebum murmurs, so softly Youngjae almost doesn’t catch him over the drumbeat of the rain outside Jaebum’s Carens 2000.

Youngjae lolls his head to the side to regard Jaebum, wearily floating back down to Earth. “Yeah?”

“What are you thinking about?” Jaebum asks, voice the gentle lull of tides at dawn. 

“Rain,” Youngjae says, too abruptly, loudly.

Jaebum flinches. “Okay.”

Youngjae doesn’t bother replying. His eyes drift away from Jaebum’s profile, as soft as it is elegant, to land on a figure by the side of the road, several metres ahead of them, almost invisible and soaked to the bone. They stick out their thumb. 

There’s a flash of lightning, as loud as the crack of a whip, white-hot and practically alive. The split-second Youngjae is downright terrified for the person is enough for him to scream, “Stop!”

As though Jaebum’s muscles are hardwired to the sound of Youngjae’s voice, he swerves, slamming on the brakes. The car skids across the skating rink of the road and grinds to a halt on the gravel. 

“What the fuck,” Jaebum breathes. His fingers are clenched around the steering wheel, white-knuckled. Youngjae recognises the following exhale as a sign of his anger diluting, still there but mellowed. It’s a technique he uses often. 

“Look,” Youngjae hazards, pointing ahead of them. There’s a guy, bundled up in a giant green parka, a duffel bag hoisted onto his back, squinting curiously into their headlights. 

“You had me brake like that,” Jaebum laughs emptily, “so we could pick up a fucking hitchhiker?”

“Yeah,” Youngjae snaps, “I did.” He opens the door, slams it shut, and flips his hoodie over his head. He hears a faint “Youngjae, wait!” but continues to stalk up to the guy. 

“Are you okay?” Youngjae asks. He sounds gruff and unwelcoming, so he clears his throat, puffs his cheeks up in a smile, and tries again, “Are you okay?”

The guy’s face is pale and surprised. Pretty. His pink mouth hangs open and raindrops cling to his eyelashes, weighing them down like miniscule diamonds. He doesn’t answer for a few seconds, but when he does, his posture straightens and he turns his head. “I am.”

Youngjae should be scared. But he steps closer. There’s a blue bruise blossoming along his right cheekbone and a jagged cut in his bottom lip. “No, you’re not.”

He doesn’t have a chance to hear the guy’s reply when he’s dragged backwards by a firm wrist. Jaebum stands in front of him, the breadth of his shoulders tense and protective. “Hyung...” Youngjae tries. 

“What happened to you?” Jaebum asks the young man, not unkindly. Just, very Jaebum-like. Youngjae lets out the breath he was holding. It leaves his mouth in a wisp of frigid smoke. 

The guy looks torn, eyes shifting between Youngjae and Jaebum. He sighs, and it’s like a dam has burst. “I was meant to catch the last bus down to Mokpo-si but I was mugged at the gas station down the road, and they took my phone and wallet. I managed to hold onto the rest of my stuff though. The clerk called the police for me but they never turned up, so I’ve been walking along here for the past hour.” He shrugs. Water rolls off the shoulders of his jacket.

“Mokpo-si? We’re going to Mokpo-si,” Youngjae says. He yelps when Jaebum pinches his hip. “Aren’t we, hyung?”

“We are,” Jaebum says, after a strained moment. “You can come with us, if you’d like…?”

“Jinyoung.” The guy grins, and his eyes crinkle gorgeously. Youngjae squeezes Jaebum’s hand. “My name’s Jinyoung.”

While they walk back to the car, they introduce themselves and Jaebum asks if he can have a look inside Jinyoung’s duffel bag. As a precaution, he says. Jinyoung complies easily enough, placing his bag on the wet hood. He doesn’t have much inside, just a bunch of worn novels, a notebook, clothes, an unopened chocolate bar. 

“Statistically speaking, aren’t serial killers usually the drivers themselves?” Jinyoung jokes.

“Do you want to check our boot then?” Jaebum says, humorlessly. 

“It’s okay,” Jinyoung reassures him. He looks at Youngjae as he says this, half-smiling. “I don’t have much of a choice, anyway. I’ll take the risk.”

“Just throw your stuff in the backseat, Jinyoung-ssi,” Jaebum says, sliding into the driver’s seat. Youngjae hovers next to the passenger’s side, watching Jinyoung hesitate near the door. 

“Hop in,” Youngjae calls out. The rain’s starting up again, heavy grey clouds spitting on them callously. “It’s warm.”

At that, Jinyoung’s entire body shivers, like he’s only just realising how freezing he is. He pulls the handle, and practically falls into the car, the cozy warmth. “Sorry, I’m getting your car wet,” he says, when Jaebum starts the engine. “Thank you so much.”

“Don’t worry about it,” Jaebum says. He rubs Youngjae’s thigh with the pad of his thumb, accelerating back onto the road.

 

 

Youngjae and Jaebum left their apartment in Seoul at 12AM. They had a fight at 12:30AM. It was over something dumb—Jaebum had left his video camera charging in the power socket in their bedroom and blamed Youngjae for distracting him, for coming home from work later than they’d agreed. 

“Do you want me to take over?” Youngjae asks, when the digital clock hits 3AM.

Jaebum declines, unswerving.

Jinyoung is fast asleep in the backseat, chin knocking against his collarbone with every bump on the road. His arms are folded across his chest. He’s hung his parka on the back of the seat to air it out, and the thick cable-knit sweater he wears now looks handmade and unbelievably soft. Youngjae steals glances at him every half hour, wanting to reach out and feel for himself. Or push the black glasses that dangle precariously on the edge of Jinyoung’s nose back up. Or climb over the centre console and gently tug Jinyoung’s head onto his lap. 

Youngjae doesn’t know why he desires these things. Something new, he guesses. 

“What are you thinking about?” Jaebum asks him, again. Jaebum? He’s something old.

“The first dance,” Youngjae improvises. What would Jaebum say if Youngjae told him the truth? “Scared I’m gonna mess up.”

“You’ll be great,” Jaebum replies distantly. “You’ve been practicing for ages.”

Youngjae’s noona had asked Youngjae to sing _For You_ during her first dance. An entire month he’d spent, poring over sheet music, working on his vocal technique, trying not to brush off Jaebum’s silent, unwavering encouragement, the backbone to the body of Youngjae’s song.

“I guess,” Youngjae allows. 

They’ve reached a length of countryside where no street lamps dot the road. The moonlight is dulled, barely breaching the atmosphere. Youngjae watches the never-ending darkness blur past them, imagining for a moment what it must feel like to be out there, walking on the wet moss, filling his lungs with icy air. He’d be invisible, a peaceful creature of the night. 

“Hyung,” Youngjae mutters. “Stop the car. Please.”

“Again?” Jaebum huffs. He complies though, taking a sidestop.

“Turn off the headlights.” Youngjae’s fingers are trembling from where they curl around the edge of his seat.

“You’re scaring me,” Jaebum says. He turns off the headlights.

Youngjae looks outside at the sombre black silhouette of the forest, awestruck. He rolls his next words over his tongue. “I just, I wanted to see what the world looks like without lights?”

“You wanted to see,” Jaebum repeats, in disbelief. “Okay. Okay, I see why. This is fucking cool.”

They sit there in a terrifyingly long stretch of silence, in which Youngjae blindly searches for Jaebum’s hand and interlocks their fingers. The gap between them and the backseat where Jinyoung is breathing softly in his sleep seems to expand.

“Hey,” Jaebum whispers, “I’m sorry, for earlier. I didn’t mean it.” _You’re fucking abrasive_ , Jaebum had yelled at Youngjae. _Just lay off a moment_.

Youngjae frowns, turning their hands over. “The things people say in the heat of the moment are usually telling.”

“No, I—I never think like that, Youngjae,” Jaebum pleads. He closes his eyes, and it’s minutes before he speaks again, “I don’t know how to say what I want to. I love you, okay?”

Youngjae’s mouth quirks. “I love you too. But can we talk about this later? I’m about to shit my pants.”

Jaebum opens his eyes, grinning. “Me too.”

 

 

Youngjae wakes up to sunlight glowing through the condensation on the window. His knuckles reach up to rub his eyes. He thought he'd been awake this whole time. 

"I think he was an asshole," Jaebum is saying. 

"He was a _teenager_ ," Jinyoung insists. Youngjae twists his neck around curiously. Jinyoung's elbows rest on his knees, and his palms are spread wide and open. He's smiling. 

“They’re not mutually exclusive!”

"We were all like that. I'd bet everything I’ve got that you were exactly like him, Jaebum-ssi." Jinyoung’s voice is calm, a fishing line being slowly lowered into water. Youngjae can tell he’s good at this. Talking, that is. Another minute, and he’ll have Jaebum hooked, lined, sinkered. That should unsettle Youngjae but he thinks Jaebum deserves to be wrong sometimes. 

He raises an eyebrow at Jinyoung. _What are you talking about?_ he mouths. “Holden Caulfield,” Jinyoung whispers back faintly, while Jaebum rants about how Jinyoung knows nothing about him and how dare he come into his house and imply Jaebum was an arrogant dickhead. 

Youngjae doesn’t even know who Holden Caulfield is but he’s known Jaebum since high school and Jinyoung pretty much hit the nail on the head. He makes a face at Jinyoung in reply, sticking his tongue out. 

Jinyoung hesitates for a millisecond before pulling one back. His eyes bulge manically and his mouth curves downwards. He looks so ridiculous Youngjae gives himself away by snorting. 

“Youngjae?” Jaebum asks, poking him in the belly.

“Yes, hyung?” Youngjae singsongs. 

“What are you—” Jaebum starts to ask, until he looks in the rear view mirror and sees Jinyoung tugging on his flushed ears, cheeks inflated. “What are _you_ doing?”

“Nothing,” Jinyoung says, immediately dropping his hands to his lap and batting his eyelashes. His mouth is red.

“Jinyoung-ssi,” Youngjae cuts off Jaebum’s retort, pointing to his own mouth. “Your lip is bleeding.” 

“Must’ve split it open again,” Jinyoung says absentmindedly, patting the cut with his fingertip and inspecting the droplet of blood that gathers there.

Youngjae frowns, slides the sleeve of his black hoodie over his knuckles and reaches over—Jinyoung clutches his wrist before he can do anything. “Can I?” he perseveres, and when Jinyoung finally nods, Youngjae dabs his bottom lip with the fabric. 

“There’s a rest stop coming up,” Jaebum informs them, “We can grab some breakfast.”

“That’s not a bad idea,” Youngjae laughs. The first thing he’d noticed when waking up was Jaebum’s eyes pink with exhaustion. He drags his hand away from Jinyoung’s mouth. “There, done.”

“Thanks.” Jinyoung smiles and leans back in his chair.

They continue driving for a mile or so along the highway, listening to the morning news on the radio, until Jaebum takes a right turn at a sign that reads _FEELING TIRED? TAKE A REST_ and parks in the barren lot. He cuts the engine with a yawn and Youngjae follows him out of the car, his stiff legs almost tripping him up. Youngjae bumps into Jinyoung around the side, forgetting momentarily that there’d be anyone there, and Jinyoung catches him before he can faceplant into the gravel. 

“Thanks,” Youngjae mutters into Jinyoung’s shoulders, awkwardly uncrossing his legs.

Jinyoung laughs, letting him go. “Cold?” he asks, clearly having felt the shudder that ran through Youngjae’s torso. It’d ended in a faint tingle between his eyebrows, and he tries not the burn up. 

“It’s cold,” Youngjae quickly affirms. 

“Hurry up, you two,” Jaebum calls out. The boot clicks open, slowly rising to the sky. Jaebum takes out his and Youngjae’s coats, handing the latter to Youngjae when he walks over to him. “I’ve been craving jjambbong all night,” Jaebum tells him, rubbing his stomach with a pout. His other hand stretches out to pinch Youngjae’s cheek. “I can taste it in my mouth.”

“JJambbong?” Jinyoung comes up behind them. “God, me too.”

“What are we waiting for, then?” Youngjae says, grabbing Jaebum’s hand. Without giving himself any time to overthink it, Youngjae fumbles for Jinyoung’s too. His fingers are longer and thinner than Jaebum’s. Less clammy too, but then again Jaebum did have his hands around a steering wheel for four hours. 

He watches Jaebum’s face as they walk through the carpark, trying to gauge his reaction, but he’s completely blank. Which means—it means he’s thinking. And when Jaebum thinks, it might be hours, days, months until he figures out how to translate those feelings into actual words and actions. It took him a year to stop acting cold and distant around Youngjae whenever they weren’t hooking up in college, and it took Youngjae that year to realise Jaebum is just a book with a phoney lock. Looks like a duck, quacks like a duck, but isn’t actually a duck. 

He watches Jinyoung instead. His face is blank too, but Youngjae can’t fill in the gaps like he can with Jaebum. And that scares him, so he lets go of both their hands, and pushes the door of the food court open. 

This early in the morning, they’re cooking everything fresh, and the impact of the smells of grills and fryers burning away is instantaneous and potent. Youngjae’s stomach gurgles as if it’s angry. And it should be; the last time he ate was during his lunch break yesterday.

“I’m fucking starving,” Jaebum announces for all of them. He leads them to a place serving jjambbong with ease. 

“What is your stomach, a jjambbong GPS?” Youngjae jokes. His laugh falters when he notices Jinyoung has hung back, hovering near one of the tables, halfway across the hall. It takes Youngjae a second to realise why: he has no money. Youngjae whispers this to Jaebum.

“I know, Youngjae,” Jaebum says coolly. He smiles at the cashier, orders three serves of the dish, and takes out his wallet to pay. Youngjae watches this process a tad speechless. 

“Oh,” he says, finally, “That’s nice of you.”

“Can’t let him starve, can we?” Jaebum says, looking over at Jinyoung. He waves when he catches his eye. Jinyoung raises his hand, and awkwardly takes a seat.

“No, we can’t,” Youngjae says, nodding. 

“I forgot to ask earlier,” Jaebum begins. He taps his fingers on the countertop as they wait. “Because, you know, we didn’t have much time before we left.” He smiles at Youngjae, not his real Youngjae smile, but the one he uses to try and lighten the mood. “But did you still want to drag out our trip? Take the scenic route, right?” 

Youngjae acquiesces, and smiles his not-Jaebum smile. “Thought you were going to tell me we left our suits at ho—”

“No, we didn’t!” Jaebum interrupts. “I saw them with my own eyes.”

Youngjae reaches over to pat his chest, laughing. “We didn’t, hyung, I put them in the car on _Wednesday_. And yeah, I want to but we should ask Jinyoung. He probably wants to get away from us as soon as possible.”

“You think so?” Jaebum asks. They’re interrupted by the bowls of jjambbong sliding across the countertop.

It’s a rhetorical question, but Youngjae answers it anyway, “I don’t know. I don’t even know where he lives. We have a lot of things to ask him, don’t we? Are you making a list?” Jaebum takes two of the bowls, and Youngjae is left to carry the third. 

Jaebum rolls his eyes. “He’s a writer. He lives in Seoul.”

Youngjae narrows his. “You had time to do a background check on him? You’re so weird.”

“We talked!” Jaebum protests. “Like normal human beings! So, _you_ make a list.”

“Fine,” Youngjae grumbles, feeling a tad out of his depth now he knows Jaebum knows more about Jinyoung than he does. “Do you know his last name?”

“And you call me weird,” Jaebum scoffs, shaking his head.

“It’s Park,” Jinyoung calls out. “You’re really loud, you know?” He’s grinning when Jaebum and Youngjae take their seats opposite him, placing the bowls on the table. 

Youngjae goes pink, for the second time today. “I know.” He deflects, pushing a bowl towards Jinyoung. “This one’s for you.”

Jinyoung visibly panics. “I—I can’t take this.”

“You can, and you will,” Jaebum says, wiggling his chopsticks in the air.

Jinyoung opens his mouth to reply but his stomach gets there before him, grizzling loudly. He still looks conflicted but sighs, almost dramatically. “Alright. Thank you, hyung.” He cracks his chopsticks apart and stares into his food. Because Youngjae’s looking for it, he notices the tiny pleased smile Jinyoung sports for a split-second. 

“How old are you?” Youngjae blurts out.

“Twenty-three,” Jinyoung offers, through a mouthful of noodles. “You can call me hyung, if you want.”

“Okay, what are you doing with yourself, Jinyoung hyung?” Youngjae continues. 

Jinyoung shares a look with Jaebum. “I’m a writer. Short stories, mostly, but I’ve been working towards a novel since I quit my job last month.”

“Where did you work?”

“Uh,” Jinyoung stutters, “Park Enterprises.”

“Oh, the shipping company? I’ve had to correspond with them a few times,” Jaebum says. “That’s cool.”

“I guess so.” Jinyoung prods at his food. “Now I'm just travelling around the country, catching buses, staying in B&Bs, that kind of thing. I want to go overseas sometime but I thought to myself, there’s so much I haven’t seen here, I need to discover it all. Understand it and pick it apart before I can even think of leaving, y’know?”

“So, you’re looking for inspiration?” Youngjae ventures. 

“You could say that.”

“Have you found any?” Jaebum asks. Youngjae looks at him quizzically but Jaebum doesn’t turn. 

“Maybe,” is Jinyoung’s answer. His final one for the day, because the next thing he says is, “You’re heading to Mokpo-si for a wedding, right? That’s all Jaebum hyung told me.”

“My older sister’s,” Youngjae confirms. “First wedding in the family.”

Jinyoung whistles through his teeth. “You must be excited.”

“‘Course. But I’m really nervous.” Now is Youngjae’s turn to play with his food in mild discomfort.

“Youngjae here’s been asked to sing,” Jaebum says proudly, poking Youngjae’s cheek with the end of a chopstick. Youngjae rubs the spot, giving Jaebum a look which he hopes translates into _hyuuuuuung_. 

“You sing?” Jinyoung looks surprised.

Youngjae lifts a shoulder in a half-hearted shrug. “My sister thinks I should’ve become an idol, she used to send tapes of me to entertainment companies. No luck but I like what I do now.”

“What’s that?” Jinyoung grimaces halfway through his question, setting his chopsticks down and reaching for a napkin. He blots his mouth with the corner, sucking his bottom lip into his mouth when he’s done. The chilli in the soup must’ve aggravated his cut. 

“Just started a placement as a music therapist,” Youngjae explains. He points at Jinyoung’s mouth. “We should get you an antibacterial ointment for that.”

“You don’t—fine, don’t look at me like that,” Jinyoung says, with a laugh.

Next to Youngjae, Jaebum slouches in his chair and groans. “I’m not full. What about you guys?”

“I’m full,” Youngjae and Jinyoung chorus.

Jaebum holds a hand to his forehead. “Reaaaal supportive. Guess I’ll go get hodugwaja and tea myself then.” 

“Never said there wasn’t room for dessert, hyung,” Youngjae quips. 

When Jaebum gets up to leave, Jinyoung quietly asks him if he can use his phone to make a call. Jaebum obligingly coasts it across the table, and turns to Youngjae, demanding, “Come with me.”

Youngjae pushes his chair back noisily, and Jinyoung catches the hem of his jacket before he can follow Jaebum. 

“Tell me about it later?” Jinyoung asks. “Your job,” he elaborates, when Youngjae looks confused. 

“I will,” Youngjae says, shooting him a thumbs up, “Enjoy your phone call, hyung.”

“I will,” Jinyoung echoes. His tone is distant and apathetic, and Youngjae is so curious. But he doesn't pry, joining Jaebum at the hodugwaja stand.

 

 

The wedding will be the first time Youngjae's parents have seen each other in over eleven years. Youngjae, he's always been a mediator. A neutral zone. At the age of nine, he was told his parents had filed for a divorce. He can't count the number of times he'd stay up late, crack his bedroom door open a fraction to eavesdrop on their arguments. Riled-up, he would go to bed with the fierce and naive determination only a child possesses and vow to make them apologise to each other the next day. 

"You're a sweet boy," was his mother’s response. She kissed the top of his head and turned her back to him.

"Here's a lesson for you, Youngjae," was his father’s response. He slowly rotated his head as he spoke. The series of cracks made Youngjae wince. "Don't give out apologies like chump change."

Youngjae sat in his PJ’s at the kitchen table and watched. Watched on as the morning scene ingrained in his young mind began to alter: his mother's face became drawn-out and weary and she stopped kissing his father on the cheek, complaining about his early-morning scruff. When stormclouds rolled through with winter, the strewn-out mess of his father's belongings on the counter disappeared in increments, and eventually, the table was only set for four. 

Youngjae always liked odd numbers better.

“I think your problem is a lack of emotion,” Jinyoung is saying, “Not that you haven’t got any, but I want you to make me cry. Metaphorically, of course,” he tacks on, when Youngjae furtively smiles. 

Behind them, Jaebum snores as if in agreement. He’d shoved a bag of hodugwaja in Jinyoung’s hand earlier, cutting off any protests with a wink and a worn-down, “Just let me sleep, and you can have anything you want.” 

Jinyoung told them who he'd called on the way back to the car, after a quick detour to the mini-supermarket for antibac and other things: the bank, to cancel his cards, his auntie, who he'd intended to visit in Mokpo, and his father, reason unstated.

Jinyoung ends up in the passenger seat next to Youngjae when Jaebum shucks his coat off, bundling it up into a makeshift pillow, crawls into the backseat and promptly passes out without so much as putting his seatbelt on. 

Youngjae reaches over him, untwisting the strap and clicking it into place around his waist. “Sleep well, hyung,” he mutters, pressing a kiss to his temple. When he turns around, immediately self-conscious, Jinyoung is preoccupied with the stubborn zip of his bag and doesn’t show any signs of having seen a thing.

“You’re right,” Youngjae says, in reply to Jinyoung’s critique, “Let’s go again?”

Jinyoung rewinds the instrumental on Youngjae’s phone and presses play. Youngjae begins to sing, eyes on the open stretch of road ahead of them. He wants to close them, but he also doesn’t want to die. He cuts himself off—“This might work better if I wasn’t driving.”

Jinyoung noogies his skull, and Youngjae yelps. No sympathy from the peanut gallery though. “Use your brain, multitask.”

He’s overthinking it, he knows he is. The solo is crazy important to him. There are too many people he might let down for it to not be: his sister, she deserves the happiest day of her life. His parents, Youngjae needs to forgive them, they need to forgive each other. There’s a part of him that still clutches onto a _sorry_ , iron-willed. Jaebum, he needs to forgive him too. Youngjae, at nine, had his heart broken. Youngjae, at twenty-two, is terrified. 

And now, Jinyoung. A book with a lock Youngjae needs an industrial picking set to break open. Youngjae doesn’t know Jinyoung, not really, but he fears letting him down anyway. See, the frothy champagne of early infatuation always got to Youngjae’s head like nothing else. The honeymoon phase of his relationship with Jaebum had been _magical_ , almost too much.

“I just don’t think—”

“Think,” Jinyoung persists, “Think about someone you love.” And it’s his split second glance at Jaebum through the rear view mirror that makes Youngjae’s throat seize. 

“You know,” he says. It isn’t a question. 

“It wasn’t difficult to piece together,” Jinyoung explains, sheepishly laughing. “I think I heard you talking, last night? I didn’t mean to eavesdrop. I thought I dreamt it all, it was so dark.”

Youngjae’s not even sure how to explain that episode. It was too absurd, intimate. “Maybe you did dream it,” he teases. 

“Maybe.” Jinyoung grins, and Youngjae wonders absentmindedly if his cheeks would feel like dough if he poked them. “But you didn’t deny it.”

“Do you always have to be right?” Youngjae groans.

“Glad you caught on.”

“Fine,” he admits, “He’s my man.”

“Now we’ve established that, you love him, right?” He’s half-joking. 

Jaebum’s cheek is squished against the seat, drool crusting on his chin. Youngjae’s stomach flips. “I do.”

“Okay,” Jinyoung says. Under his breath, he mutters, “Might’ve been awkward if you said no.” The instrumental starts up again. “Sing, Youngjae.”

 

 

Sometime between Youngjae and Jinyoung’s third rendition of _Me Gustas Tu_ and the car giving out, Jaebum stirs awake. 

“It’s nothing major,” he says.

It’s nothing major, apparently. The three of them are standing in front of the car, watching smoke pour out of the bonnet, hands on their hips. There’s a jacket zipper imprinted onto Jaebum’s left cheek; and Jinyoung’s face, although healing, is still colourful; and Youngjae’s hair sticks up like he’s been electrified, and maybe he has, because he swears every time Jinyoung had ruffled his hair, he felt zaps through his skull, blossoming into flowers on his wan skin. They must be a sight.

“Do you know anything about cars?” Jaebum asks Jinyoung.

“Not a thing,” says Jinyoung. Almost wistfully, and most certainly, unintentionally, he adds, “A chauffeur drove me around for most of my life.” 

Jaebum narrows his eyes. Not maliciously, just curious. Jaebum-like. “Who _are_ you?”

“Park Jinyoung,” is Jinyoung’s simple reply. 

Jaebum wants to probe further, Youngjae can tell he does, but he leaves it. “I can fix this. Be my cheerleaders,” he demands of them. He pushes the sleeves of his sweater up to his elbows, muscles tensed for show, and it occurs to Youngjae then how long it’s been since they last had sex. A week? Two? He vaguely remembers a half-assed blowjob in the shower before work one morning but—wow, they’d never gone this long before without so much as making out and the shock of it trickles down Youngjae’s spine like lava.

Then, it’s all he can think about.

While Jaebum hacks away at the car with no luck, getting angrier by the minute, Jinyoung and Youngjae sit on the edge of the highway and watch. He looks over at them, face pinched, and Jinyoung smiles, giving the air a fist pump. “You’ve got this, hyung!”

Jaebum huffs. From here, Youngjae can see the sheen of sweat along his throat. His shoulders flex. Youngjae exhales.

“Hey, you okay?” Jinyoung asks.

“What?” He focuses his gaze on Jinyoung. “Yeah, I’m fine.”

Jinyoung hums, cupping Youngjae’s cheek with his palm. “You’re warm.” His eyes crinkle, mischievous. “Don’t blame you.” He leans in close, and whispers into Youngjae’s ear, “How long do you think we can get him to keep going?”

“That’s mean, hyung,” Youngjae giggles. “We should call a mobile mechanic for him. He’s never going to give up.”

“I give up!” Jaebum yells. The spanner he throws to the ground kicks up dirt onto his shoes, and he takes a deep breath, closing his eyes. 

“We better do that,” Jinyoung agrees. 

Youngjae turns on his data, pulling up a phone number for a nearby car service. The wait is around half an hour. Right now, they’ve got a day and a half to reach Mokpo in time for the wedding preparations, and his sister has been sending him urgent texts all day. (“Read it out to me, hyung,” Youngjae instructs Jinyoung when his phone buzzes for the hundredth time. 

“Are you sure?” Jinyoung chokes, hiding a smile behind his palm. “Alright. _Youngjae-yah, stop having roadside quickies with JB and get here quick_.”

"Oh my God," Youngjae groans, neck going limp in embarrassment.) 

The gravity of the situation finally hits him. Youngjae has to peel off his coat because he's sweating buckets and when Jaebum comes to sit next to Jinyoung, he tugs Jaebum's arm behind Jinyoung's back, holding his hand. Jaebum squeezes, and the touch knocks his increasing anxiety down a notch.

"It'll be fine," Jaebum reassures him. "The problem isn't fatal just... out of my area of expertise."

Youngjae laughs at that. "I knew your soccer mom car would break down one day."

"It's not a soccer mom car!" Jaebum whines. "It's practical."

"It's a soccer mom car," Jinyoung confirms.

"Don't you give me cheek," Jaebum says, letting go of Youngjae's hand to cuff Jinyoung's arm. "Ah, they're here." A van pulls up at their feet. Jaebum pushes himself up to greet the mechanic, leading him over to the car and explaining the issue. 

"Wanna go over there?" Jinyoung asks. 

"Not really," Youngjae admits.

"Fair enough." Jinyoung takes Youngjae's phone out of his hand, casually typing in his passcode. "I bet I can beat your high score on Fruit Ninja." It might've been weird if Youngjae didn't already live life dangerously by alternating between three passwords for literally everything: 060194, ijbcyjcc and 0000. And Jinyoung is observant, Youngjae knows that much.

"You're _on_."

 

 

Fifteen minutes later, Jaebum returns and lets them know with a sheepish twist of his mouth that the car's being towed and they'll get it back at noon the next day. "I have good news though," he goes on.

"There's good news?" Youngjae groans into his knees. 

"The guy told me there's a motel about six hundred metres away where we can stay overnight. I mean, it might be nice?"

Jinyoung stands up, using Youngjae's thigh as leverage. "It will be." He sticks out his hand for Youngjae. "C'mon, let's get our stuff before it starts raining."

They watch the Carens being taken away, Youngjae's head on Jaebum's shoulder, arm linked with Jinyoung's. "This is kind of depressing," Jaebum remarks.

"Scenic route," Youngjae says. "Hyung, we're taking the scenic route."

“You’re right,” Jaebum agrees. "Let's get going, then."

The walk to the motel is an experience. They're stuck with a suitcase, three duffel bags, and Youngjae and Jaebum's suits for the weddings, trekking down a busy highway with the grey sky looming threateningly above them. Six hundred metres feels like it's halfway across the world, but the movement and the breeze whipping past them is a nice change from the car. 

Youngjae tells Jinyoung about the work he does, like he’d promised, with Jaebum pitching in occasionally. Soon enough, they reach the motel. It’s a sequence of duplicate units, arranged in a 'U' shape, with what looks like a reception smack bang in the centre. 

"This place doesn't look half-bad," Jinyoung comments. They make their way across the dusty ground of the courtyard, towards the reception. Jaebum pushes through the door with the side of his body, and as soon as they're past the threshold, it starts to rain. 

"Good timing, boys," the lady at the desk calls out, waving them over. "What can I do for you today?"

"Could we get a room for..." Jaebum pauses. He glances at Jinyoung and Youngjae. 

"Hyung, it's fine, if you want to—" Jinyoung interjects. 

"Three." There's a finality in his voice that catches Youngjae off guard, sprouts a thought in his mind that maybe he isn't the only one bubbly on champagne. 

The receptionist rattles off their room number and general rules, and after Jaebum pays for the night, she slides over the key. He beams at her in a way that makes Jinyoung murmur, "He's good," to Youngjae.

Jinyoung then goes up to the desk, leaning his elbow on the countertop, and thanks her. The way he smiles is as charming as Jaebum, but so very unlike him. Less pronounced, more cunning and elegant.

"You made your point, Jinyoung," Jaebum huffs half-heartedly, dragging him by the collar. "Let's get going."

"Alright, alright, I'm coming."

Youngjae gives the receptionist a short wave, and follows them out into the storm. 

"To the right, she said," Jaebum yells over the downpour. They play stepping stones with the front steps of each unit in an attempt to avoid the rain under their tiny jutting-out roofs. "7B, 7A, 6B, 6A, 5B, 5A, 4B, okay, we're here." He rattles the key in the lock. "Help me with this, Youngjae."

Youngjae rolls his eyes, lifting up his forearm so the duffel bag drops to the crook of his elbow, and places his hand over Jaebum's, turning the key. There's a muted _click_ and the door swings open. The interior is simple, freezing and vaguely antiquated, the floor tiled in dark brown and the walls made of stone. Three beds line the left of the room, with barely a feet between them, and there's a fireplace flanked by two armchairs and a tiny kitchenette on the opposite side. "Home, sweet, home," he announces. 

"You can say that again," Jaebum breathes, immediately striding over to one of the beds, and dropping the suits onto the covers, flopping down next to them. "Youngjae, it's a _real_ bed."

"I can see," Youngjae laughs. He turns to Jinyoung. "Pick a bed, hyung."

Jinyoung walks over to the bed on the furthest end, near a door which inevitably leads to the bathroom, and sits down, claiming it. "Do you mind if I hog the bathroom? I haven't had a shower in way too long," he discloses. When Youngjae gives him a thumbs up, Jinyoung walks through the door, waving his toothbrush around, humming, "Bibbidi bobbidi boo." 

Youngjae goes over to Jaebum, who’s lying face-down on the bed, and drapes himself across his back, cheek squished against his shoulder-blade. "Hey, hyung." 

"Hey," Jaebum says, voice muffled. He drags Youngjae down onto the bed next to him, throwing his arm over Youngjae's neck and pulling him in close. 

"What's up," Youngjae whispers. He stretches forward to peck Jaebum, smiling. 

"You know," Jaebum starts. There's a glint in his eyes. "This past week, I couldn't stop thinking about fucking you in a dingy, haunted motel room." 

Youngjae glances at the bathroom door. The shower's running. He leans in closer. "Really?" 

"Kept having nightmares about voyeuristic ghosts but I woke up with a boner every time?" Jaebum shudders. 

"That's so fucking weird, hyung," Youngjae laughs. "Hey, would you be up for a shower date when it’s free? We can see if this place is really haunted."

“Are you kidding?” Jaebum yawns, “I’ll be there.”

“Great,” Youngjae says, and seals the deal with a kiss.

 

 

“My body temperature’s probably out of whack now,” Jinyoung groans as he walks out of the bathroom, towelling his hair dry. His undershirt and trousers cling to his freshly-clean skin in a way that can only be mildly uncomfortable. Youngjae wishes he’d just walked out in nothing. “As indecisive a shower as they come, I’m telling you.”

“We’ll keep that in mind,” Jaebum says, at the same time Youngjae encircles his arms around Jinyoung’s shoulders, resting his face on his shoulder and hums, “That sucks, hyung.”

“Thanks, Youngjae,” Jinyoung says, laughing a little. He taps Youngjae’s forearm, and Youngjae lets go, grabbing his towel.

He wraps it around his neck like a cape and struts to the bathroom, shouting, “Hurry up, Jaebum-ie!”

“What’s with him,” Jaebum grumbles under his breath, shaking his head at Jinyoung. Jinyoung shrugs, and falls back onto his bed. 

Jaebum slips inside the bathroom just as Youngjae’s got the water running. He locks the door, strips and walks into the steam. Barely seconds after he says, "This is nice," the spray goes a sub-zero cold, making them jolt like skittish animals. Jaebum draws Youngjae into his arms for warmth, but also because the cubicle barely fits the two of them and Jaebum is territorial over his water. 

"You can say that again," Youngjae mutters. He's not sure if the goosebumps along his skin were elicited by the cold or Jaebum pressing against his back, his hips moving in slight jerky movements as though of their own accord, but he doesn't care. He just needs—“ _Hyung_.” 

Jaebum mouths the back of Youngjae’s neck, and wraps his fingers around the base of his cock, tight. “Let me get one thing straight,” he says, “You're attracted to him, aren't you?”

“I—” He’d wanted Jaebum to ask, but the question’s still like a punch to the gut. And well, there's no point in deflecting. “Yeah.”

Jaebum starts stroking him, hand just leisurely ghosting over Youngjae’s dick. “Good,” he says, “Me too.”

“Hyung,” Youngjae gasps. He twists around to look at Jaebum. “Can we?”

“You sure?” Jaebum presses. 

Youngjae thinks about Jinyoung’s plush mouth, the soft swell of his ass, his damp fringe and pink cheeks after his shower, and yeah, he’s never been more sure. “I want to.”

"Do you think he—" Jaebum falters, and it's in that moment, the brief stutter of his hand working Youngjae's cock, that Youngjae realises Jaebum's nervous too. "Do you think _he_ wants to?" His mind wanders back to Jinyoung ogling Jaebum bent over the hood of his car. He'd been teasing, sure, but Youngjae didn't just conjure his attraction up from thin air.

"You should go ask him," Youngjae whispers, half joking, mostly serious. "But for the record, I think he does."

"Hm," is all Jaebum says. Then, he kneels down, nudging Youngjae back against the tiled wall. He looks up at Youngjae—he's got his thinking face on, Youngjae recognises through the steamy haze inside his brain—and lifts his chin up so Youngjae's cockhead brushes against his bottom lip, precome catching in the centre.

Youngjae sweeps Jaebum’s wet bangs out of his eyes, pushing his hair up and gripping it tight. Years ago, Jaebum had blown him in the high school locker room after hours, and rather reluctantly allowed Youngjae to come on his face—to be fair, Youngjae was seventeen and kind of bad at focusing, but he'd been so fixated on the pretty mole couplet above Jaebum's eye that he ended up aiming and... 

Suffice to say, he lost his voice for three days making it up to Jaebum. Youngjae, as driven as he was inexperienced, spent another three months trying to get Jaebum to open up, become lax, let Youngjae get away with holding fistfuls of his hair and guiding his mouth, like he is now, without becoming prickly. Without putting up walls there was no need for.

Jaebum is busy sucking him down, his thumbs digging into Youngjae's thighs. A second later, he backs away. "My knees hurt," he says. 

Jaebum doesn't complain when he's hurt. Youngjae should've seen right through it. But he doesn't, not right away. "That's okay, just use your hand, hyung." He holds out his own to help Jaebum up. 

But once Jaebum is on his feet, he backs away and pushes the shower door open. 

"What are you doing?" asks Youngjae. 

"Don't touch yourself, Youngjae," Jaebum calls out, tone playful. Youngjae watches him tie a towel around his waist, an annoyed whine caught in his throat. He leaves Youngjae in the shower, which has decided to go cold again, aching and confused.

 

 

Youngjae doesn't know how long he waits, five, maybe ten, twenty minutes, for Jaebum to return. He scrubs himself raw, and bored, with the flannel he brought with him, and spends the rest of the time watching the storm through the tiny window outside the cubicle, jumping out of the spray every time it decides to murder him via hypothermia, and talking himself out of doing exactly what Jaebum told him not to.

The door creaks open and Youngjae's heart fills his throat. His mind leaps to _ghost_ before it does _Jaebum_. "Youngjae?" It isn't Jaebum nor a voyeuristic ghost who says his name, but Jinyoung. His silhouette through the fogged up glass is leaning against the doorframe, one hand in the back pocket of his slacks, and Youngjae—he can’t go out there, with his pathetic semi, dripping wet and cold. He backs into the corner, oddly intimidated, his earlier confidence evaporating into steam. That’s when Jinyoung steps forward, places his hand on the handle of the shower door, and says, “Youngjae, do you want to come out here?”

“I do,” Youngjae says, so quietly he isn’t even sure Jinyoung heard him. 

“But?”

“But…” He hasn’t been with anyone other than Jaebum in a very long time. And Jinyoung isn’t just anyone. Not really. He isn’t a stranger they’d tag-teamed in a club, looking to spice up their love life. Youngjae doesn’t want to kick him out of the bedroom afterwards. He wants to know everything about him. 

“Can I come in?”

Youngjae gives his consent, and Jinyoung presses the door open. The storm rages on. It feels like Youngjae’s chest has flooded with rainwater. He can’t hear anything over the dub dub beat of his heart like it’s replaced his brain between his ears. So, he waits for Jinyoung to make the first move, to pounce. 

The cubicle is so cramped, it takes Jinyoung a single step to reach Youngjae, and when he does, his shirt is soaked through, the drizzle relentless against his back. He braces his palm on the tiles next to Youngjae’s hand, and his other hand skims along Youngjae’s ribs, settling in a tight hold around his hip. 

Youngjae’s breath hitches in his throat. The way Jinyoung’s looking at him—well, if he had to compare it to Jaebum, Jaebum’s eyes when he looks at Youngjae are stars to Jinyoung’s pitch-black sky. 

He laughs, a nervous _ha ha ha_ , and says, “You’re getting all wet, hyung.”

“Am I?” Jinyoung cracks a smile. “We should get out of here then, shouldn’t we?” He lets go of Youngjae’s hip. Youngjae can feel the hot brand of his fingers, and wonders if there’d be a mark if he pressed harder. That thought fizzles into nothing when Jinyoung’s hand grazes his cock. 

“ _Hyung_ ,” he whines. What he wants to say next is _why are you both fucking teases_ but instead he blurts out, “Kiss me.”

Jinyoung looks like he's torn between toying with Youngjae some more or actually following through with his request. His eyes flicker down to Youngjae's mouth, and he settles on the latter. There's soothe to the way Jinyoung kisses him, a sweet aftertaste after an initial acidity. The acidity being Jinyoung nipping his bottom lip, tilting Youngjae's head back so that it knocks against the tiles, his tongue pressing up against the ridges of Youngjae's mouth. 

Youngjae hooks his elbows around Jinyoung's neck, and the action pastes their chests together. He can feel Jinyoung tremble. He's getting the worst of the icy water, and somehow the thought of that makes Youngjae want to swoon. 

"Jinyoung!" Jaebum shouts from the main room. "Get your hands off him!" 

At the sound of his voice, Jinyoung's mouth curves into a smile. "Is he always like that?"

Youngjae shrugs. If he has to receive another week-long ribbing from Yugyeom and Bambam when Jaebum leaves love bites the size of the moon on his neck, he’s going on strike. So, “Pretty much.”

He tows Jinyoung out of the shower when Jaebum yells again, hissing “Keep it _down_ , hyung,” as they stumble through the door. His cock bobs against his belly and he glances down to see his skin’s turned a blotchy pink, damp, and glowing in the light from the fireplace Jaebum started up. This has to be the craziest situation he’s ever been in. 

Jaebum is lounging on the bed, or rather, the three beds he’d evidently shoved together, arms bent and head resting in his palms. “No one can hear me.” He smirks then. “No one can hear us.”

Youngjae lets go of Jinyoung's hand and crawls onto the bed towards Jaebum, well aware of the view he's providing Jinyoung. He doesn’t care now. He feels like he's drunk. 

"How are we going to do this?" he whispers into Jaebum's mouth. He hears Jinyoung cough behind him, and he watches Jaebum watch Jinyoung—Jaebum's face lights up, amused and a little bit proud, and his hand slides up Youngjae's thigh to grip the flesh of his left ass cheek. Youngjae reddens, forehead dropping to Jaebum's shoulder. 

"You look so good, baby," Jaebum says. "What do you think, Jinyoung?"

Youngjae startles when Jinyoung's voice comes from right behind him. His breath drifts across Youngjae's skin, leaving goosebumps in its wake. "He does," Jinyoung agrees, "Can I?"

Jaebum must've nodded because there's suddenly another hand ghosting along Youngjae’s spine, curling around the back of his neck, and Jaebum loosely pushes Youngjae’s shoulder back with the heel of his palm, until he falls back into a kneeling position, feeling very much like a ragdoll—especially when Jinyoung tips his chin up with an index finger, and stretches forward to kiss him again. This time it's slower, all for show, and that gets Youngjae hot as anything—the fact that Jaebum's watching him make out with another man. He can imagine his expression, dark and intrigued, maybe a little jealous. Youngjae whimpers, clutching Jinyoung's shoulders with both hands, clawing him in closer. 

A second later, he's being dragged away, and Jinyoung's mouth is replaced with Jaebum's. 

He feels Jaebum sigh into the kiss, and he gets it, that mixture of relief and longing and familiarity making his muscles sag. Jaebum—no, Jinyoung's thumb rubs circles into the soft of his Achilles' heel. He likes that too, it's danger and practiced, detailed sophistication and the unknown, all at once.

"Missed this, _you_ ," Jaebum mumbles, once he pulls away. 

"Cute," Youngjae thinks he hears Jinyoung remark under his breath. Jaebum's going for him then, pressing Jinyoung's shoulders into the mattress, licking him open. Jinyoung must've been caught by surprise because his eyes are wide open and his palms lay flat on the sheets. He looks like a corpse. 

Youngjae laughs, and the sound trails off as he watches them, echoing against the stone walls of the room. Jaebum's legs bracket Jinyoung's hips, forearms resting next to either side of his head. He sits back on his haunches, when Youngjae starts to become impatient, repeating, "How are we gonna do this?" 

No one seems to want to answer him. And he feels awfully underdressed. 

Jinyoung grins, spit-slick mouth curling prettily. It's impossibly pink. "Aren't we just overdressed?" 

"Yeah, I think you are," Youngjae says, reaching over to slither a hand under Jinyoung's shirt. The cotton bunches up with the slide of his wrist, and his fingertips catch on Jinyoung's left nipple. Jinyoung gasps, and maybe it was the combination of Youngjae's touch and Jaebum squirming above him as he takes off his own shirt, but Youngjae wants to hear it again. 

Jaebum climbs off Jinyoung, and the bed, going over to suitcase in one corner of the room. 

Youngjae takes the opportunity to wriggle between Jinyoung's legs, pushing them apart, a pinkie meaningfully hooked into the hem of Jinyoung's hem, right above his zipper. Jinyoung nods, propped up on his elbows. He's taken off his undershirt now, and his upper body is lean and creamy. The tips of his ears burn red and his hands twist the sheets in anticipation. Youngjae might be a little bit in love.

He unbuttons Jinyoung's trousers, dragging the zipper down. Jinyoung's briefs are the colour of a summer sky. Something blue. 

"Youngjae," Jaebum interrupts, just as Youngjae is about to mouth the wet patch on Jinyoung's underwear. 

He looks up, unimpressed. "Yeah?" 

"I need to talk to Jinyoung for a second." There's a bottle of lube in his hand.

Youngjae shares a look with Jinyoung, and Jinyoung shrugs. "Okay," he finally answers, dragging out the word. He moves onto the furthest bed, testing his lip reading skills as Jaebum leans over Jinyoung, whispering in his ear. 

Jinyoung looks visibly flustered, but he nods, and leans against the bed head, kicking his pants and underwear off.

"Come back, babe," Jaebum says. He pops the cap of the lube open. Jinyoung grins at Youngjae as he spreads his legs, a hand hooked under his thigh. Watching Jaebum drench his fingers and wetly twist Jinyoung open, stretching him with three of them, Jinyoung's head thrown back, moaning—it's like drowning. Youngjae isn't sure how he's meant to feel, how he should react. So, he switches his brain off. Lets his body become hyperaware. Jinyoung is right on the edge, about to join Youngjae in the water, when Jaebum drags Youngjae limply onto the mattress, and says, "Jinyoung's gonna ride you now. Okay?" 

"Okay," Youngjae echoes. Jaebum's statement is just wind, in and out of one ear, and it doesn't fully sink in until Youngjae literally sinks in, into Jinyoung. Jinyoung braces his palms on the mattress, back arched, while Jaebum rolls a condom onto Youngjae's cock, holding him steady for Jinyoung to descend onto him.

"Hyung," Youngjae breathes, and it takes a lot of self control for him not to sound totally wrecked already, "You feel so good." Jaebum rarely does this. In fact, Youngjae can count the number of times he's fucked Jaebum on one hand: Youngjae's twentieth birthday, the day Jaebum landed his graduate job, Christmas Eve last year, Jackson and Mark's housewarming party where they'd gotten high as kites and christened Jackson's new Ikea bed. 

So, this is a novelty. And a hot one, at that. 

Jinyoung is an absolute whiz with his hips. He grinds them down in tiny circles, sighing when Youngjae strokes his spine, hand dipping down to where Jinyoung's rim is stretched thin. Jinyoung shudders, shoving back against him. It's a sight, his cock disappearing into Jinyoung as he bounces, quick and desperate, above him. In his periphery, Jaebum is stroking himself lightly, taking it all in as intently as Youngjae is, probably. 

Youngjae is so mesmerised that it feels like he's missed a step walking down stairs, stomach lurching, when Jinyoung lifts himself off his cock and turns around to face him. He fumbles for Youngjae's hips, hauling him further down the mattress, until he's laying on his back. 

"Stay still," Jinyoung says, leaning over to kiss the corner of Youngjae's mouth. He places his hands on Youngjae's shoulders, and rides him like Youngjae's never been ridden before. Which is to say, Youngjae is probably about to combust. 

He clutches the meat of Jinyoung's ass, feeling it jiggle in his palms, and bites back a scream. Jinyoung's thighs probably burn, he's panting so hard, and beside them, Jaebum groans. 

Youngjae watches through half-open, glassy eyes as Jaebum leans over to attach his mouth to Jinyoung's shoulder, sucking a mark into his skin. He sees a flash of teeth, and Jinyoung becomes tighter, somehow, and it's all over. Youngjae cries out as he comes, hips bucking up, and it courses through him like giant swells of thunder.

"If you were trying to murder me, hyung," is the first thing Youngjae says, when he comes to, "that was the best way to go about it."

Jinyoung just laughs, forehead plastered against Youngjae's. A garbled whine makes its way up his throat when Jaebum reaches around to get a hand around his cock, getting him off with deep, deliberate pulls. Youngjae's going limp and terribly sensitive, so he rolls Jinyoung onto his back, slipping out of him.

"What do you want, Jinyoung?" Jaebum asks. He's hard too, ruddy and curved up against his stomach, but he doesn't seem to care. Youngjae has always found that confusing, fascinating even, how Jaebum can be so short-tempered usually but seems to finds patience and self-control in the deepest pockets of his body in bed. 

Despite being so far gone, Jinyoung finds it in himself to smirk. "Want Youngjae's mouth,” he says.

Youngjae takes Jaebum's sharp inhale and following silence to be approval. Sure, he didn't _need_ it, but the thought of sucking Jinyoung off and Jaebum liking it is just an added bonus to what sounds like everything Youngjae's wanted to do since he met Jinyoung. Not a blowjob, that would've been strangely specific, just this, kissing him, touching him, knowing him—

"Youngjae."

"Right," Youngjae says abruptly, shaking his head. He shuffles down the bed, settling in between Jinyoung's thighs.

Jinyoung sits up, combing his fingers through Youngjae's locks, and nudges the wet head of his cock against Youngjae's mouth. Youngjae opens up, letting Jinyoung slowly feed him his cock. He sucks him down until Jinyoung's muttering praise that makes Youngjae go pink. Jinyoung is vocal, not the Youngjae kind of vocal where Jaebum has to muffle his mouth because his screams are too loud, but the talkative kind. 

"You're so pretty, so hot, Youngjae," Jinyoung says, over and over again. "Are you this good for Jaebum hyung? He's the luckiest guy alive." 

Youngjae can't answer, he can barely breathe with the way Jinyoung's fucking his throat. There's no mercy about it.

"Aren't I?" He feels Jaebum kiss his nape, fingers kneading the flesh right below his ass. It's like spitting compared to Jinyoung's torrential rain, cool and light. Then there's a coldness between his inner thighs, a sopping, uncomfortable kind, and Jaebum slips between his legs, knocking Youngjae's knees together in an attempt to make him tighter. 

Youngjae comes again, two minutes after Jinyoung goes unusually quiet and Youngjae swallows him down for the last time, and another minute after a deep groan is yanked out of Jaebum's chest and he streaks jizz across Youngjae's legs. 

He could sleep for a million years, he thinks. But somehow, Youngjae finds it in himself to smack Jaebum's arm when Jaebum drawls, "Milky thighs," swirling his fingertips through his own come, and stumble to the bathroom to clean himself off. 

When he returns, Jinyoung has passed out, and Jaebum is waiting for him, a gap between him and Jinyoung—enough space for Youngjae to curl around Jinyoung, Jaebum clinging to his back. "It's warm," Youngjae slurs, right before he falls asleep.

 

 

Youngjae wakes up alone. The quilt is tucked under his chin, toasty warm, and the room smells of Jaebum's favourite cinnamon candle, the one that makes him crave apple crumble. He digs the heel of his hand into his eye, and sits up, blanket gathering in his lap. His first thought isn't in regards to Jaebum and Jinyoung’s whereabouts but how much he has to pee, so he untangles his legs from the sheets and makes his way to the bathroom.

Youngjae washes his face with lukewarm water from the scummy sink, eyeing his throat in the mirror. He presses two of his fingers into the biggest bruise, nestled right in the crook of his neck, and pouts at the sweet ache that fizzles through his veins. Jinyoung left him that one. 

He ambles back into the main room, and pulls on a pair of black pants. His search for his oversized hoodie is fruitless, so he ends up in a t-shirt and Jaebum's leather jacket. He's tidying up the room when he gets a call from his older sister.

"Hey, noona," Youngjae says, running a hand through his bed head in an attempt to style it. "How are things on your end? Hectic?"

"It's fi—" his sister tries to say, and she's unceremoniously cut off by the sound of glass shattering and a consequent shout, "Hectic's pretty accurate."

"What was that?" Youngjae laughs. "Junghoon hyung giving you much trouble?"

"He's trying, I'll give him that," she admits. Youngjae can practically _hear_ her massaging her temples. "And that was your dad. He dropped an entire box of wine glasses because mum just walked in."

Youngjae sighs. "How are they holding up?"

"It's tense—hey, Youngji, don't walk over there—but they're trying to be amicable. Friends, even. I saw them having a chat outside at breakfast earlier."

"Wonder what they were talking about."

"Gross parental stuff, obviously."

"You're getting married, noona! Get used to it," Youngjae teases.

"Yah, you're making me feel old." After a beat, she adds, "I'm not gonna be like them."

"Doesn't everyone say that about their parents?" Youngjae says, toying with the zipper of Jaebum's jacket. "History always ends up repeating itself."

His sister exhales, and there's no background noise on her end now. "When did my baby brother get so cynical and wise? Are you okay?" It's a question Youngjae knows directly translates to _is everything okay with Jaebum?_

"I'm okay," Youngjae says. "Just pensive, I guess. I keep thinking about how I might never end up where you are."

"You have plenty of time to figure all that out, baby," his sister says. Her advice has always sounded rehearsed ever since she was old enough to even give him advice (“Don’t forget to check under your bed every night, sooky la la,” or “It’s always good to say sorry,” or “Cooties aren’t _real_ ,” or “Don’t break hearts, Youngjae-yah.”) When Youngjae asked, she told him it was a magical power all big sisters were given at birth, but secretly, Youngjae believes she just thinks about him a lot. 

“Enjoy what you have now,” she continues. “I don’t want you to be sad at my wedding, kid.” She snickers. “But you’re obliged to cry during the ceremony, got it?”

“Got it,” Youngjae repeats, chuckling.

He hears familiar laughter outside the unit, when his sister says, “I’m going to let you go now, I think dad got some glass in his palm,” and hangs up before Youngjae even has a chance to worry.

He tosses his phone onto the bed, and leaves the unit to look for Jaebum and Jinyoung. His breath curls into little clouds once he's outside. He rubs his hands together and scans the area. The pair are at the outskirts of the motel, sitting at a rusty picnic table. 

The dusty ground is a shade darker now, spotted with puddles and dewy nettle Youngjae has to skip over as he makes his way to the other two. Jaebum is in his matching pyjamas—why he puts them on _after_ sleeping in nothing, Youngjae will never understand—and massaging his upper arms for warmth. 

In Jinyoung's hands is a steaming mug of coffee. The sleeves of his sweater are yanked up to his knuckles, and _hey_ , that's Youngjae's hoodie. It seems to swallow him up even more than it does Youngjae. 

Something borrowed. 

"Jinyoung hyung," Youngjae half-heartedly whines, alerting them to his presence. 

Jaebum lets out a huff of air when Youngjae plops himself into his lap, and Jinyoung smiles. "Hope you don't mind."

"S'okay," Youngjae says. He nuzzles against Jaebum's neck, sleepiness hitting him belatedly. It can't be past 6AM, there are still slivers of morning light trickling over the mountaintops in the distance. "What are you talking about?"

"I was just telling Jaebum here," Jinyoung begins, turning his nose up at Jaebum in jest, "that the world can be split into two people: those who like Holden Caulfield and those who don't. Alternatively, those who identify with Holden Caulfield and those who don't."

"The _entire_ world? That's way too broad," Jaebum argues. He strokes Youngjae's back, soothingly, and it takes a lot for Youngjae to keep listening to the conversation. "Let me guess, you identify with him?"

"Well," Jinyoung says, cautiously, "Yeah, I mean, I'm on a journey—"

"I've got you all figured out, Park Jinyoung," Jaebum cuts him off, and Youngjae has to pinch his stomach, feeling a crackling sort of intensity in the air. 

He doesn't _think_ Jaebum is going to pick a fight, but he sounds like he is. He glances up, and Jaebum is smiling. It's a smile he's never seen before. 

Jaebum goes on, "A spoilt, rich boy, son to Park Jinyoung Sr. and heir to Park Enterprises, I'm guessing?" Jinyoung's jaw drops a fraction, and Jaebum persists, despite Youngjae making a minefield of his stomach, "You didn't want to take over the company. You wanted to write. So, you gave it all up, maybe gave them an ultimatum, and left your ivory tower to go on your little spiritual journey."

Youngjae expects Jaebum to sneer, he's always hated that sort of thing, found it presumptuous, but his face is merely a mask of amusement. Jinyoung, on the other hand, looks affronted, like any second now, he's going to splutter, "Fuck you," and tip his coffee all over Jaebum. 

"It's admirable," Jaebum finishes, after a tense pause. "I still think he's an asshole, though."

Jinyoung cracks a smile, and visibly lets out the breath he'd been holding. "Am I really that easy to read?" 

"Not really," Jaebum says, shrugging. "It wasn't difficult to piece together." The statement is eerily familiar. 

It's only later, when they've packed up their things, and bundled themselves back into the Carens down the road at the mechanic, that Youngjae realises Jinyoung had said the same thing about Jaebum and Youngjae's relationship. Those two are more similar than they realise, Youngjae thinks to himself, biting back a laugh as he watches them bicker in the front of the car. He has no idea who Holden Caulfield is, but if he were a coin, Jaebum and Jinyoung would be heads and tails, respectively.

Youngjae falls asleep, again, feeling very much like something's clicked into place. He dreams of a triple rainbow after a hurricane. He slides down the middle one, twisting and turning, and drowns in a pool of gold coins at the bottom.

 

 

"Youngjae, Youngjae," a voice is whispering in his ear, "Choi Youngjae."

Youngjae stirs awake, and immediately regrets trying to move when a sharp pain shoots up his half-asleep leg. "Ouch," he groans into his pillow which... isn't actually a pillow, but Jinyoung's thigh.

"You okay?" Jinyoung asks, concerned. 

"Leg," is all Youngjae can get out, throat parched as anything. He twists his neck around, trying to undo this one kink, and—ah, there it is. Above him, the window provides a panoramic view of the grey stretch of clouds outside. The rain is almost frozen in time with how fast they're driving along the highway. 

In the front seat, Jaebum is humming along to the unlabelled blues album he keeps in the side compartment. He and Youngjae know every single lyric, but they've never looked up the artist. It's a running joke between them; when they're especially bored, they'll start throwing out ridiculous names in the middle of a conversation (Youngjae started it with, "John McDreamboat!" when Jaebum asked if he knew the singer. Jaebum had grinned, and threw back, "Funky Soul. Definitely Soul?"). 

Jinyoung's warm touch on his leg has him returning to the car, drenched from the storm. Like what he'd imagine dipping his head into a pensieve must've felt like in those Harry Potter movies. His mind wanders for a moment, pondering whether Jinyoung would be offended to find out Youngjae hasn't read a single one of the books. Harry Potter had been yet another topic of one of Jinyoung and Jaebum's debates over the course of the car ride. Jaebum thought Snape sucked. Jinyoung said he was a romantic.

His thoughts dissipate quickly when Jinyoung folds over the hem of Youngjae's pants and expertly kneads his knuckles into the calf muscles. His mouth quirks, pleased, when Youngjae breathes out, his pained groan dying in his throat.

"Thanks, hyung," Youngjae mumbles. 

"Feeling better?" Jinyoung asks. His hand is snaking up Youngjae's leg, over his knee, halting dangerously close to his crotch. 

Youngjae nods, gulping. His eyes flicker over to Jaebum, and back up at Jinyoung's thoughtful face. He wouldn't, not now, not with Jaebum driving, oblivious to the happenings in the backseat. 

He would, it seems. Jinyoung slowly unzips Youngjae's pants, coaxing him out of his boxers. He delicately wraps his hand around the base of Youngjae's cock, hushing him when he hisses. Maybe Jinyoung doesn't know the extent of Youngjae's noisiness, or maybe he's just completely intent on keeping him silent, a hand slapped over Youngjae's mouth, that he thinks they can get away without Jaebum figuring out what's going on. 

They don't, in the end. The end being Youngjae on the brink of orgasm, a high-pitched moan squeezing through the gaps of Jinyoung's fingers. "What are you doing?" Jaebum yells, like Youngjae had expected him to, and then, once he's fully comprehended the situation, it gets to him, and he swerves to the right, parking the car a little ways out from the highway. 

It's dark enough that no one would be able to see Jaebum climb between the two front seats. He lands halfway on the carpet below and the seat Jinyoung and Youngjae are laying on, losing his balance and knocking his chin against Youngjae’s collarbone. 

Spontaneous threesomes are difficult enough without trying to execute them in a car, Youngjae realises. "Too many limbs," he grumbles, when Jaebum heaves himself up and falls heavily onto Youngjae, squishing his cock between Jaebum's chest and Youngjae’s stomach. And if that doesn't kill the mood, Jaebum grinning lamely up at him finishes the job. 

"You love me," Jaebum says.

"Yeah," Youngjae affirms. He stretches forward to kiss Jaebum, but at this angle, he can't reach and his neck snaps back. 

Spontaneous threesomes are difficult enough without trying to execute them in a car, while all three members of said threesome catch a laughing fit every time one of them tries to speak, or move, or breathe. 

But when it works, it works. 

Jaebum comes last, bent over with Jinyoung fucking into him, and when every last drop of his spunk dribbles out into Youngjae's hand, his head drops against Jinyoung's chest, and he smiles giddily as he says, "How did we ever find you?" 

The rain stops. Youngjae rolls down the windows to air out the car, and the outside smells damp and bittersweet.

 

 

They arrive in Mokpo an hour later. Youngjae rides shotgun for the rest of the drive there, mentally rehearsing all the ways he can say goodbye to Jinyoung. 

None of them sound right.

Jinyoung quietly gives Jaebum the directions to his aunt's house, leaning forward on his elbows between the two front seats. "That's the one," he says, pointing to a two-storey house at the end of the street. From what Youngjae can see in the dark, the garden is neat, the lone tree on the side threadbare and skeletal, and there are two rocking chairs on the porch. 

He knows this house. He remembers being jealous of the treehouse that used to be up in the tree, only big enough to fit two children, the coolest girl on the block and her wealthy cousin. He begged his dad to build him one too, but it never happened. It was only a pipe dream amongst the many other things he wanted but could never imagine possessing.

Youngjae doesn't tell Jinyoung any of this. He wouldn't know how. When Jaebum parks the car on the kerb, Jinyoung sheds Youngjae's hoodie, folds it and leaves it on the seat, and grabs his bag and coat. It all goes very fast. They walk Jinyoung up to the porch, and greet his aunt. She offers them tea but Jaebum politely declines, telling her it's late and they don't want to impose. Jinyoung lingers by the fly screen, when his auntie retreats back into the house.

He smiles weakly at them, and says, "I had fun, thank you." He cuts off Jaebum's _no big deal_ , with an emphasised, "Really, thank you. For not cutting me into pieces and stuffing me in your trunk."

"Funny," Jaebum deadpans, while Youngjae laughs.

Almost unintentionally, Youngjae steps forward to catch Jinyoung's parted lips with his own, his chest heavy with longing. "See you later, hyung," he says, when Jinyoung gently untangles himself from Youngjae's vice grip a minute later. 

"See you, Youngjae." Jinyoung smiles, kissing his cheek. He waits and waves when Youngjae and Jaebum walk back to the car, their footsteps squelching on the muddy lawn.

"Write about me," Jaebum calls out, through the rolled-down window.

"I will!" 

Youngjae watches him grow tinier and tinier as they drive off, and keeps looking out of the window, at the streets he grew up in, until his neck cramps up, and he turns to the front. Jaebum gives his thigh a comforting squeeze, and says, "Just you and me now."

 

 

After an entire morning spent following his mother and sister around to help with last minute preparations, Jaebum god-knows-where; getting ready and chugging down a litre of coffee, Youngjae sinks into the chair next to Jaebum, right at the edge of the aisle. Jaebum subtly pinches his side, and Youngjae sighs, sitting up straight and fixing the lopsided lapel of his suit jacket. 

"Where were you?" Youngjae whispers.

"Junghoon hyung needed a pep talk," Jaebum replies.

" _All_ morning?"

Jaebum shrugs, mouth twisting. He lifts his chin in the direction of Junghoon and his groomsmen. "Don't you have to be up there?"

"Oh, right," Youngjae says. He pats Jaebum's knee, smiling. "I'll talk to you later, hyung. Don't sweet talk my mum too much."

"Can't make any promises, Choi Youngjae." They've been with each other so long, but Jaebum still has the uncanny ability to make Youngjae flush pink. He scurries off and takes his place next to the groomsmen, bumping fists with a frazzled looking Junghoon on his way there.

Ten minutes later, his heart is hammering in his chest, stomach flipping as he watches his sister walk down the aisle, arm linked with their father’s. He can't imagine how Junghoon must feel in this moment. His sister is stunning, the second most beautiful woman in the world, after his mother, and despite himself, Youngjae does as his sister asked him to and tears up during the vows. 

Jaebum catches him after, when the bouquet is thrown and the guests are mingling, and dabs his fingertips under Youngjae's eyes, murmuring, "Love you, love you, love you," under his breath. 

The hours go by in a blur.

Youngjae thinks of Jinyoung exactly three times:

The first time is during the wedding photos, when Youngjae turns away from the blinding sunset light, and in keeping with his pose, smiles candidly up at Jaebum. Right behind his ear, like a secret meant only for Youngjae, is a tiny purple mark with Jinyoung's name on it. 

The second is when he's standing between his parents for the first time in years, towering over their small, weathered bodies, wondering if it's possible to miss someone when they're right in front of you. He turns to his dad, arm slung across his shoulders, and says, "Hey, do you remember when I asked you to build me a treehouse?"

"Oh, like the one the Parks had?" His father frowns, sharing a pointed look with his ex-wife. "I'm sorry I couldn't give you one."

Youngjae presses his mouth against his father's temple. "It's okay," he says. 

The third is during the first dance. Youngjae is situated at the outskirts of the dance-floor, next to the DJ, one of their wayward third cousins, twirling the mic in his hand as he practices breathing. He is performing a slower, more muted rendition of _For You_ so he doesn't "steal all the attention," as his sister put it. "I mean that as a compliment," she laughed, ruffling his hair, "You're too good for us, Youngjae."

The music starts up, and he focuses on the couple. His sister misses a step, and it's hardly noticeable, but she's as nervous as him. He closes his eyes, and tries to keep his voice steady and strong and emotional for her. _Think about someone you love_ , Jinyoung tells him. 

Jaebum is standing next to his parents, arms folded across his chest. He's half-smiling, eyes glossy like a car window during a rain shower. He looks serene.

Youngjae’s last note hangs heavy in the air as Junghoon dips his sister until the ends of her hair brush the floor. The hall is flooded with applause, the guests making their way onto the dance-floor once the setlist starts playing over the speakers again. Youngjae advances to the other end of the room, smiling and shaking his head at every red rose thrown his way by relatives, friends, people he’s never met before. 

Jaebum is leaning against the wall by the chocolate fountain like he was waiting for Youngjae. And he probably was. “Hyung,” Youngjae says. It leaves him as a cry.

“You were amazing,” Jaebum says, drawing Youngjae in for a hug.

Youngjae brushes off the praise. “Hyung, you said you couldn’t believe you found him,” he starts, “So why did you let yourself lose him?”

“What are you ta—oh.” Jaebum frowns.

“Tomorrow?” Youngjae ventures, “Promise me.”

“Youngjae,” Jaebum sighs. _This is a bad idea_ , Jaebum probably thinks. _It’s worth the risk_ , Youngjae telepathically replies. 

Then, Jaebum sucks in a big gulp of air, and holds up his pinkie. “I promise.”

 

 

Jinyoung is curled up in one of the rocking chairs outside his aunt’s house. There’s a notebook in his lap, and he’s chewing on the end of his pen, thoughtful and a little weary-looking. 

Jaebum and Youngjae slowly drift down the street in the Carens. Jaebum beeps the horn, and Jinyoung startles, dropping his notebook. He looks up. 

Youngjae rolls down the window, yelling, “Hey, cutie, do you need a ride?”

Jinyoung grins, wide and sincere, and sticks out his thumb.

**Author's Note:**

> this might give me away lmao but 80% of this was based off a family road trip to a cousin's wedding about a month ago. the other 20% is the hot sex which most definitely did not happen.

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [alone, you smile at your secret greatness](https://archiveofourown.org/works/8018191) by [girltalk](https://archiveofourown.org/users/girltalk/pseuds/girltalk)




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